Live Review: Yard Act
This is the second in a series of music posts of different kinds I’ll be doing in the next few months. This time, a gig review written about a band that I wasn’t very familiar with but who happened to be playing near me that week—UK’s Yard Act, playing on Wednesday 13th November.
“They're the band from Leeds, you kno’!”, I hear from a proud Northern voice behind me, as I walk away from the crowded bar to grab a spot on the floor of the sold-out Croxton Bandroom in Thornbury. A few minutes later, the house lights dim, the band comes out, and their singer James Smith confirms that a) they are in fact from Leeds, and b) they're happy to be in Melbourne. Then they launch into Dark Days, the bluesy opener from their debut EP of the same name.
The band is the vibrant British four-piece Yard Act, joined on tour by saxophonist Chris Duffin and backing singers/dancers Lauren Fitzpatrick and Daisy Smith. They are playing their second show on consecutive nights in Australia, touring on the strength of their second album Where’s My Utopia?. It's understandable that the Leeds connection would get some people excited and out on a Wednesday night. After all, the West Yorkshire city boasts a stellar musical pedigree, with bands like Gang of Four, the Mekons and alt-J all hailing from there.
And hearing frontman Smith’s casual northern cadence over a primitive bass-and-drums bed as he welcomes the crowd to the show raises expectations of a night of wry, angular post-punk. After a few songs, though, there’s little doubt that the atmosphere tonight is going to be festive, not confrontational. This is a party, not a manifesto. Hyperactive lights flash in rainbow colours across the stage, bouncing off the metal jingles of the tambourine and the sweat on the dancers’ skin. The bobbing heads and swaying shoulders of younger women in the crowd balance out the greying temples and stiff hips of the middle-aged dads in their sagging black jeans. It’s clear that the band is embracing the poppier, funk-driven side of their recent album, rather than relying on the direct, minimalist sound of their debut, The Overload.
The focus of the band is obviously singer Smith. Dressed in yellow with wide lapels and horn-rimmed glasses, he is constantly in motion, unleashing a torrential verbal barrage across every measure of every bar in every verse and every chorus of just about every song. It’s as if words are gremlins churning inside his body, rising up and waiting for release—mostly through his vocals, but when that avenue is clogged, they seem to find alternate routes through his body, causing him to bounce, skitter, leap and convulse across the stage. Even his hands are excitable–pointing, shaking, flicking and jabbing at invisible enemies above the crowd.
On the records, Smith is quite adept at keeping his vocals dynamic, either by changing tone in his delivery, adopting different accents, or even using studio effects like panning and equalisation in the mix. On the live stage, though, it all comes across much flatter and shoutier, without the nuance and wit that he’s capable of achieving.
That’s why any song that allows the rhythm section to take over immediately gives the music space to breathe. Bassist Ryan Needham—dressed in black blazer and sunglasses, and intent on never breaking a sweat, or a smile, throughout the set—founded the band with Smith and his bouncy bass figures, laid atop drummer’s Jay Russell’s steady beats, are at the centre of every track. The eight-minute fan favourite The Trench Coat Museum proves a highlight of the set, starting off at a breakneck speed, but soon locking into an intoxicating groove that could easily belong in the club.
At the end of the evening, the encore devolves into an unexpected Q & A, after the band momentarily stops the song The Trapper's Pelts and Smith thanks the crowd for coming. The singer feigns irritation for a moment, but then notices how polite the audience member was raising their hand, so he accepts the question. As it turns out, it wasn’t a question, but the next line in the song, prompting the singer to lead the band back to the final chorus. It seems even the band’s fans are aware that words—lots of them—are what Yard Act is all about.